Survive the Night by Danielle Vega Page A

alley?”
    Lawrence frowns. “I guess it could have been music,” he says.
    I jog to the corner and peer down the opposite alley. Woody crouches in the middle of the street, his head pressed against a manhole cover. The cow costume still hangs from his waist, looking worn. Dirt and grease stain the limp tail and the cow’s white ears.
    â€œI don’t think this is it,” he mutters.
    Sam stands over him, frowning. “I’m telling you, he said Covert Street, not Cooper Street,” he says.
    â€œMaybe.” Woody pushes himself to his feet and heads farther down the alley. He kicks a beer can, and it skitters behind a Dumpster.
    â€œGuys!” I shout at them. “Shana found something.”
    Sam and Woody jog over to us, Aya and Julie trailing behind them. Aya’s only wearing one of her shoes and carrying the other. She loses her balance when she tries to walk and stumbles into Julie, giggling.
    â€œWhat’s up?” Sam asks. Woody stares at Lawrence’s grocery bag shoes as Shana repeats the story of the humming alley.
    Woody pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and removes a twenty-dollar bill. “Lawrence, my man, how’d you like to make some money?” he asks.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Lawrence leads us through the darkened Manhattan streets, to another alley several blocks over. Woody walks beside him, but Sam lags behind. Now is my chance. I fumble with my turtle necklace and hurry up next to him.
    â€œHey,” I say, nudging him on the shoulder.
    â€œHey,” he says back. Usually his voice is casual, and even a little cocky. Now it sounds strained. I roll my lower lip between my teeth, and silence stretches between us.
    â€œSo.” I cough awkwardly. “Um, how’s school?”
    Sam shrugs. His jeans hang low on his hips and his shirt’s a little wrinkled, like he dug it out of the back of his dresser. “Same,” he says.
    â€œAny news about James?” I ask. James is Sam’s older brother. He was the one who taught Sam to play guitar, but he’s a meth addict, and he disappeared right before graduating high school. He’s been MIA for a little over a year. Because of him, Sam never touches drugs. He doesn’t even drink.
    Sam glances up at me. Some of the tightness leaves his jaw. “Nothing new,” he says in a voice that sounds a little more like normal. “Heard he was in California, but who knows?”
    Sympathy tugs at my chest. “He hasn’t called?”
    â€œOnce.” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “It was weird. He didn’t even sound like himself.”
    I rub my thumb over Myrtle’s shell. Tori Anne, from Mountainside, was a meth addict. She spoke with a lisp because the drug had rotted all her teeth.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say. Sam shakes his head.
    â€œDon’t be,” he says. “You didn’t do anything.”
    Woody calls Sam’s name, and Sam jogs up next to him, leaving me alone. Shana nudges me with her arm.
    â€œSo cute,” she says. I stare at the back of Sam’s neck, where his hair brushes against his shirt collar.
    â€œYou never thought so before,” I tell her. Back when we were dating, she used to call him “that little puppy who follows you around.” She told me to find him a new home.
    Shana winks at me. “Oh, yeah. The cow costume’s a total turn-on,” she says, and I realize she’s talking about Woody. The jealousy I felt fades away.
    â€œIt’s probably the udders,” I say. Shana loops her arm through mine, and the two of us fall in line behind Julie and Aya.
    â€œYou should have seen how he looked at me,” I whisper when the others are out of earshot. Shana frowns.
    â€œWho? Sam ?” she asks. I shoot her a look.
    â€œOf course Sam.”
    â€œHow did he look at you?”
    I shrug, not sure how to explain it. I think of the tightness in